What’s the Real Harm in a Little OCD Behavior?

I am not professing to be perfect, but I have often caught myself thinking there are too many people who at times exhibit OCD behavior.  If caught in a moment of weakness, I have been known to snap to judgment, unleashing a scathing commentary with a bite of the tongue that no one deserves.  Generally speaking, I have karmic experiences around this and my moments of criticism come back to haunt me.  But sometimes I just can’t resist.

I was recently bellyaching about a few people in my ‘inner circle’ who are OCD in one way or another.  I have a relative who is obsessed with gossiping and is way too OC about other people’s business.  A girlfriend of mine is OC about waxing.  She waxes her kids, herself and her husband.   They are a very “polished” family.   And, I have a friend who is so OC about cleaning that she takes the vacuum cleaner with her on vacation.  (This is a true story.) They have given up traveling by plane to better accommodate the vacuum.  Her husband is at his wits end.

Photo Credit: Vacuuming the Law by Film Bot

I guess I spend time thinking about this to make myself appear “above it all”.  You know the old trick—bring another’s faults to the forefront to make oneself look better.  I have gone to great lengths to convince myself and others that I am far too civilized, couth and “in control” to EVER exhibit OCD behavior.  I actually believed my own BS until the other day when my husband broke down in a moment of sleep deprived frustration.  While wrestling through the mountain of decorative pillows on our bed to find the one he actually puts underneath his head, and said, “Hon, I just want to go to sleep.  What’s the thing with the pillows?”  He was trying desperately to remain patient and understanding as I launched into a pathetic rant about how absolutely essential they are to the quality of our life.

The real stack of pillows from my bed. Is this OC?

And right then and there, it hit me–I am no different than Gossip Girl, Waxin’ Wanda or Miss Crazy Clean but I have never been willing to admit it.  I belong right there beside them at the OCD nut farm.  I am OCD about pillows—exquisite, expensive, down-filled, luxurious decorative pillows of the “touch them and I’ll kill you” kind.  I simply MUST have them in my life.  My precious pillows have survived my countless attempts to purge all that is superfluous from my life.  I have even accused my husband of being a pack rat while I, hypoctytically, cling to squares of down stuffed fabric.  Oh, the irony.  Oh, the injustice.  And yet, in my house they are everywhere, staged perfectly, creating little pockets of eye candy throughout my domicile.  Let me show you.

Pillows on my couch.

I am still a fan of blue and brown.  Oh, the colors.  And the textures.  Just yummy!

The Guest Room Couch the Guests Aren't Allowed to Sit On.

I should cordon the couches off with ropes, or cover the pillows in plastic because they are just too gorgeous to come in contact with human skin.

White is so right.

White is so right, I use it everywhere.  And sometimes, with a splash of orange.

Orange "Juice".

Or shimmering golden bronze.

Pink Polka Dots for Darling Daughter

And then there are the pillows that got away– the hundreds of beauties that I let go at garage sales and consignment stores.   The memories are too painful to bear.

Will I need therapy?  My husband might think so but I am leaning towards self acceptance and a pillow management program.  I am coming to terms with my OCD behavior.  I no longer hide behind my rants and justifications or criticize others for theirs.  My new policy is “don’t ask, don’t judge”.   Maybe there’s a lesson there for all of us—what’s the harm in a little OCD behavior?

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